


Bodies in the bright grass, picnicking, or otherwise shape-shifting.

by penaltyboxed



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Evil russian twinks that small your stevies: The Sequel, M/M, Magical Realism, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Summer, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penaltyboxed/pseuds/penaltyboxed
Summary: “Shanny, there’s a big ass snake in my yard,” Steve said as soon as Brendan picked up the phone, before Brendan even said anything. The words frantically falling out of his mouth. “What am I supposed to do about a big ass snake in my yard?”“Good morning to you, too,”  Brendan replied, not missing a beat. “Is it, like, a little garden snake or more Hydra snake? Basilisk? Ouroboros? That shit is a weird omen. Can never remember if it’s good or bad. Actually, just don’t tell me if it’s an Ouroborus.”Steve went back over to the window with the phone’s cord trailing out behind his shoulder. He pulled a few of the window-blinds aside so he could sneak another glance out into his yard. The thing-- the boy?-- was still there, laid out in the grass, entirely naked, warming itself beneath the morning sunlight.
Relationships: Sergei Fedorov/Steve Yzerman
Comments: 18
Kudos: 134





	Bodies in the bright grass, picnicking, or otherwise shape-shifting.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so I will make you people like the 90s red wings or die trying
> 
> I found [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Supernatural_beings_in_Slavic_religion) wikipedia page and [this](https://66.media.tumblr.com/6c1d47eec92abb9fc887e807ddf2c250/7d1f60a4b3827ce4-bc/s500x750/6bd7b47f2b642e483f73456627874bf93b2eefba.jpg) picture of stevie and decided to do something gay about it
> 
> according to my incredibly shitty research abt russian folklore tho vilas were like, the basis of cults in like 11th century and they'd get tributes of wine and fruit and cakes and ribbons and things like that to keep homes safe so *gesturing incoherently* basically if you read this and don't know or care about ancient russian cult rituals to keep demons out of your life................. then good luck I guess
> 
> shit did not get edited properly but I'm so tired and wanted to post it already, forgive me for any nonsense you find.
> 
> here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/droppedglove) if you wanna come chat. I only talk about exactly what you think I'd talk about lmfao

“Shanny, there’s a big ass snake in my yard,” Steve said as soon as Brendan picked up the phone, before Brendan even said anything. The words frantically fell out of his mouth, “What am I supposed to do about a big ass snake in my yard?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Brendan replied, not missing a beat. “Is it, like, a little garden snake or more Hydra snake? Basilisk? Ouroboros? That shit is a weird omen. Can never remember if it’s good or bad. Actually, just don’t tell me if it’s an Ouroborus.”

Steve went back over to the window with the phone’s cord trailing out behind his shoulder. He pulled a few of the window-blinds aside so he could sneak another glance out into his yard. The thing-- the boy?-- was still there, laid out in the grass, entirely naked, warming itself beneath the morning sunlight.

“Like-- probably some kind of fairy or something. Shanny, listen. There was a giant fucking black snake last night on my porch so I put it outside but it stayed and now it looks like a guy and it’s napping next to my garden boxes in the back, dude. I was gonna make breakfast and now I’m being held hostage in my own home by a shape-shifting thing.” 

“Is it sexy?” Brendan asked, connection scratchy at best. Steve pulled the phone away from his ear, made a ridiculous face at the receiver, and put it back to his ear.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘is it sexy?’” 

“I dunno, man! I’m trying to help! If it’s, like, ugly as hell then it’s probably some kind of troll but if it’s sexy it’s probably a nymph or some shit. I’m not your walking encyclopedia of magic.” Brendan bitched. 

“Okay, but you’re magic so you’ll know more than I do and I’d feel bad waking Nick up this early.”

“Half-leprechaun does not mean I know jack about shit, buddy.” Brendan said. “And s’kinda hard to diagnose this kind of thing over the phone.” 

Steve peeked outside again.

The thing in his yard looked human enough. It was silver skinned, fit as any athlete, and beautiful. It stretched out its arms and legs taught, with its back arched away from the ground. Then it sighed and relaxed back into the grass and sunshine.

“Yes, okay, it’s kind of sexy.” Steve conceded. Brendan let out a long, sympathetic whistle.

“Good luck, bud. Just, like, don’t eat anything it gives you and don’t tell it your name.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Steve said. Brendan just hung up the phone, because he was a terrible friend.

\---

Steve avoided his backyard for most of the morning and the thing did not leave of its own accord. He only ventured out there because he was afraid one of his neighbors would call the police on his house because _something_ was breaking indecent exposure laws in front of the whole neighborhood.

It was basically noon. The summer sun was beating down, ferocious and sweat-soaked. Steve pressed the folded pair of jeans under his arm and braced himself before heading out into the summer sunlight. 

The thing lolled its head backwards in the grass, grinning wickedly and upside-down at Steve’s arrival, like it had been expecting him. Had been waiting for him all morning. Steve dropped the pants on its head.

“If you’re gonna stay you need to be dressed, at least.” Steve said. 

Carefully, it lifted the denim away from its face. It blinked up at Steve, golden pupils drawn into narrow slits in the black scleras. It wasn’t particularly frightening; the cashier at the Home Depot had red eyes and curled horns when Steve was last there, buying geraniums for his front porch. There was a Seer with a service dog who lived two houses down the road and he didn’t even have eye sockets in his skull, much less actual eyes. Hell, even Brendan’s eyes went weird and white and empty sometimes. Magic genes just did that, sometimes, Steve figured.

“So you want me to stay?” It asked, voice lilting out like an accented melody. It did a sit-up, ending up cross-legged in the grass with the pile of denim in its lap. Steve tried not to stare at its bare thighs. “Is that an invitation to stay?”

“Nope. It’s an invitation to get dressed and hopefully get out of my yard.” Steve told it. It just scoffed in return. 

“Ah, no fun at all.” It stood up and pulled the jeans on. Its waist was smaller than Steve’s and consequently the pants hung low on its hips in an unflattering way. It gave Steve an unimpressed look. Steve just shrugged.

“It was those or my gardening jeans covered in mud. If you’re coming back then wear your own clothes.” 

The thing groaned, annoyed now, and then rolled out its shoulders, stretching the muscles. The sunlight refracted strangely off its skin, making everything glimmer just a little, the world’s most subtle disco-ball. It marched past Steve’s garden boxes and sat down in the metal patio furniture. Steve followed after it.

“You do not grow enough fruits!” It proclaimed loudly. “Why not more Apricots? Currants? Where are the plums?” 

“It’s a vegetable garden, pal. I barely have space for herbs.” Steve said. It made an unhappy face before it leaned back in the patio chair, chin tipped up, face still in the sunlight. It let out a melodramatic sigh. Steve felt strange while he stood around and stared at this beautiful thing loitering on his shitty patio furniture.

“So… what are you?” He asked. 

“Fey.”

“Yeah, but like, what kind?” 

It shrugged, like that was a viable answer. 

“Vila.” 

Steve barely heard of Vila. Old as fuck, and ambiguously Slavic. Nymph-like, but less Greek, and that’s about as much as he really knew. He hadn’t ever met a Vila before. Not specifically, at least. It pulled its head forward quickly, a nefarious grin showing off sharp teeth, and asked, “What is your name?” 

Steve exhaled a strange laugh. No beating around the bush with the trickery, he guessed. 

“Ste--” He began to introduce himself as normal, reflexive, but he bit the tip of his tongue lightly to keep from sharing the rest of it. He just barely remembered what Brendan had said in time to stop himself. “Actually, nevermind. Sorry.”

“… You believe old stories like that?” It tilted its head sideways, curious. It was getting a good look at Steve now, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care about being inspected so blatantly. He shrugged. Cautionary tales were cautionary for a reason, surely. Steve would keep his name to himself, for now.

“Here, then. This will be for you,” It stood up and tugged the pants higher on its hips by the belt loops. They fell back down almost immediately. “My name is Sergei, and I have never had anything to do with hurting. The opposite, in fact.” 

“Cool.” Steve said. Nothing about this interaction had particularly impressed him, thus far. “Do you live in my backyard now?” 

Sergei shrugged. “I would like it more if you grew fruits. Also, not many pillows out here, it is not very comfortable.”

“Okay.” 

Then, they just stared at each other. On the other side of the house, cars were on the road. People and ghouls and monsters were walking along the sidewalk. Life was normal and evenly paced. Sergei squinted at Steve, staring skeptically.

“Stepka.” Sergei finally said. 

“Excuse me?”

“Since you do not want to give me your name. I’ll call you Stepka, instead.” 

“Oh,” Steve fumbled a little bit, unsure how to act while Sergei gathered up Steve’s hands, holding each one in his own. His hands were warm. 

“Uh, okay. That works I guess.” 

Sergei swung their hands a little bit between them, and Steve was struck by how sweet and childish the action was. He laughed, small and a little nervous by the close familiarity, but it made Sergei smile, the brightest thing in the yard by far. 

“I’ll come back later,” Sergei promised. 

“You really don’t have to,” Steve said. Sergei smiled wide enough to make his eyes turn up into little crescents. “At all. I mean it.”

“Later.” He said again, as self-assured and damning as a pinky promise. 

He dropped Steve’s hands and headed towards the gate along the side of the house. Steve stood still and watched while Sergei’s head and shoulders dipped forward and he shifted form. The black snake that Steve had met last night on the porch made its way through the grass. Sergei disappeared out of sight, with Steve’s jeans left in a rumpled pile in the yard.

\---

Weekend afternoons were the only days that Steve and all of the boys had off at the same time, and, therefore, Street Hockey Saturdays were something that Steve looked forward to a lot. Maybe too much. He was pretty sure it was lame to be in his twenties and still playing street hockey with his best friends in the empty parking lot behind a high school, but he didn’t really care.

It was fun. It made him happy. Plus, sometimes, Darren or Nick would bring some beers for after, and they’d all lay out across the hot pavement to be sore and laugh and get sunburnt with their bare feet out while their rollerblades cracked painfully against ankle bones and curb barriers. 

Brendan had been sitting with his legs spread out in a wide V on the pavement when he made a noise like he remembered something important. He swallowed his beer and asked, 

“Oh, Stevie, bud. What happened to your snake?”

Steve was flat on his back in the grass beside the pavement and there were little rocks poking into his spine. He was enjoying being quiet and feeling the sun on his face while everyone else shot the shit. Steve waved a hand through the air, and hoped that’d be a good enough response. It wasn’t.

“Excuse me?” Darren snorted. Man had a thirteen year old’s sense of humor.

“A fairy or a nymph or something moved into my backyard, I guess,” Steve said. “It was a snake and then it was a guy and then it was a snake again. He comes and goes, I think. I’m not his keeper. Sometimes he’s around the house and sometimes he isn’t.” 

Sergei had been out back on Wednesday morning, Thursday afternoon, gone on Friday, and Steve found a mysterious pile of crumpled up Arby’s wrappers and an apple core on his patio that morning, with Sergei nowhere to be found. He tried not to have these things memorized.

Brendan made a noise like he was actually interested in this development. 

“Did you tell him your name yet?” He asked.

“No! You said not to so I didn’t.” Steve replied, affronted a little bit. “I’m not stupid. I think he gave me a nickname though.”

“Is he sexy?” Nick asked. Steve sat up in the grass and frowned. Nick tossed up his hands, vulnerable and open-palmed to imply he meant no offense. 

“Why does everyone ask that?” Steve picked up his beer bottle from where it was sitting on the edge of a cement parking barrier and then took a drink from it.

“Well, changelings are weird. Nymphs are kind of snooty--” Nick said. 

“And Elves are gossipy shitheads.” Brendan said with a grin. Darren gave him a subtle fistbump and Nick pretended he didn’t notice them being rude. 

“So I was wondering if he was an Elf, too.” He finished.

Steve wasn’t sure if Elves could shapeshift like Sergei could. “You know a lot of local Elves that turn into reptiles at will, Nicklas?” 

Nick shrugged. “Maybe. I could ask around, if you wanted.” 

“I dunno.” Steve really wasn’t sure. He was fine to just live his life with a fairy being a nudist in his backyard, sometimes. It didn’t seem like very much of a hardship. 

Darren leaned forward and kicked the pile of hockey sticks they all had thrown down after that afternoon’s game had finished. The sticks clattered around and everyone paid attention to him. 

“Stevie, if you need a ride home still, I’ll take you back and do some recon so we can get some objective opinions about if he’s actually sexy.” Darren offered. 

“What the hell, I want to come see him for that too!” Brendan said. 

Steve looked to Nick, and Nick shrugged with a goofy smile on his face. Steve sighed. 

“Okay, we can all go fuck around in my yard for a while but I don’t know if he’s still there. He might not be there. It could be really boring.” 

“Excellent, bro.” Darren said. Steve chugged the last few inches of his beer and flopped back down into the grass beside the parking lot. 

“Can I wear my skates and hang on to the back of your truck? Stevie’s house is only a few blocks away.” Brendan asked. 

“Fuck ye--” Darren said, at the same moment Nick’s eyes bugged out of his skull and he shouted, “Absolutely not!”

Steve went back to feeling the sun on his face and ignoring the three of them as they bickered. 

They sat around in the parking lot for a while longer, until some teenagers showed up to loiter and be intimidating. It was getting late in the afternoon. It was time for the irresponsible adults to head home.

Nick refused to get in the truck at all until it was certain Brendan was sitting down somewhere. Steve got Brendan sit in the bed of Darren’s truck with him, all four pairs of skates, and their beat-to-shit extra equipment that rattled around. Brendan’s legs took up all the spare space. Steve wasn’t expecting Sergei to be at home. Yet, he still tried to crane his neck around the cab of the truck and see down his neighborhood’s roads, as if he could spot Sergei in the front yard before the four of them arrived. 

Darren parked on the street. Sergei was wearing a pair of sunglasses, thick lensed and black, with a magazine open in his lap. He was sitting on Steve’s front porch swing, with his feet kicked up on the rail, lazily pushing the swing back and forth and back again with his toes. He was in a button down, with more buttons undone than was polite, and there was more bare leg out than was probably socially acceptable. Steve could hear Darren cracking up despite not even being inside the cab with him. 

Nick had rolled down the cab’s window and stuck his head out to face Steve, so he could see Nick’s horrible face, delighted and shocked by the amount of thigh muscle currently available for viewing. Only feeling a little unbalanced, Steve stood up in the bed of the truck and shouted at the porch. 

“Hey!” 

From the swinging bench, Sergei looked up and lifted up his sunglasses so they pushed his hair back. Then, he smiled wide, and waved at Steve. It was awful.

“Oh, bud.” Brendan said, sad and sympathetic, and giggling still. “Oh, he’s super sexy.” 

“Just don’t say fucking anything, Shanny.” Steve sighed, and jumped ungracefully over the edge of the truck bed before Nick and Darren got their hands on Sergei. 

He marched up the front yard with his skates in one hand while Darren was still laughing himself silly in the driver’s seat. Steve went up the porch and sat down on the swing next to Sergei, his skates dropped unceremoniously on the boards beneath them. The two of them filled out the bench nicely, side by side. Darren had opened his door and was standing on the runner boards below the truck, leaning over the roof of the cab.

“Nice fucken legs, babe!” He shouted.

“Mack, fucking go home!” Steve was embarrassed enough, but it didn’t help that Sergei began grinning and waving back, fingers moving through the air. 

“Thank you!” 

“Please,” Steve sunk down lower into his spot besides Sergei. “Don’t encourage them.” 

“It’s flattering.” Sergei said, unbearably smug. “No one ever tells me compliments, anymore.” 

Nick was waving out the truck window, and Shanny was still laughing in the back when Darren peeled down the street, faster than was legal for the neighborhood streets. The rubber and asphalt echoed. Sergei pushed off against the porch rail again so the swing kept swaying. 

“I doubt that.” Steve replied, finally. “You’re like… you look like you eat compliments for breakfast.” 

Sergei scoffed under his breath and put his sunglasses back down. Steve just stared sideways at him and admired the view, his sharp jawline and aquiline nose, the edges of him glimmering just so. 

“No, haven’t done that in a few centuries,” Sergei said. Flipped the page of his magazine. 

“Centuries, huh?” Steve asked. He would like to know more, if Sergei was willing to actually say anything useful. 

“I was very popular but no one cares for old superstitions anymore.” Sergei said lightly. “I’m all yours, now.” 

A bead of sweat traced its way down Steve’s spine, and it made him shiver a bit. Sergei smiled. 

“That’s embarrassing,” Steve said. “Don’t you have other, different people on the block to be…” 

Sergei looked at him, his black eyes shimmering behind the lenses. Steve didn’t know how to finish that sentence. 

“To be doing what?” 

“Y’know, sticking around like this. Not wearing enough clothes. Judging other people’s gardens and yards.” 

Sergei grinned a wicked thing and shook his head _No_. His hair was gold in the sunlight. 

“I told you, Stepka, haven’t looked out for anyone in a long time. It’s just you.”

After he spoke, Sergei hauled himself out of the porch swing and the force of him standing upright so suddenly left Steve a bit dumbfounded, rocking gently back and forth on the swing’s chains as they creaked. Sergei grabbed Steve’s face carefully between both hands and kissed him. It was pretty fast, too fast for Steve to close his eyes or really process what was going on, and by the time he decided what to do Sergei pulled away and quickly stepped down the porch and onto the yard. He walked backwards and waved and Steve. 

“Will see you later, Stepka!” Sergei smiled brightly. Steve barely remembered to blink and breathe and wave good-bye.

\---

Steve woke up late on Sunday, and blearily stumbled into his kitchen. He promised Brendan he’d help him rearrange all the heavy furniture at his place today and wanted to feel alive before he had to go carry couches all day and get distracted while cleaning Brendan’s house for him, or whatever the fuck was gonna go on. He went about kicking his dip coffee machine to life and peaked out the window. Sergei was lounging, spread out flat along the patio’s chaise lounge with his feet flat on the ground, knees bent over the furniture’s edges. The morning light was gold and vivid. Maybe he had spent all night out there; the nights were warm enough lately, that Steve wouldn’t put it past him.

Steve pried the window above the sink open.

“Hey, good morning!” He called out. Sergei lifted a head up, and waved. Steve held his empty mug out the window. 

“D'you want any coffee?” 

Sergei sat up properly. He was wearing Steve’s shitty jeans again. They still looked like they didn’t fit. Maybe Steve would throw a pair of pyjamas at his head, next, if he was gonna seriously keep wearing Steve’s old clothes. And a belt, or something. He’d have to sort through his wardrobe and find stuff that’d look _good_ on Sergei.

“Do you have any tea?” 

Steve had to pause and think about that one. He didn't drink tea. “Don’t think so?” 

Sergei frowned, rolled his eyes, and fell back against the metal chaise. “No thank you, then.”

Steve pulled himself back inside the kitchen and went about making the rest of his coffee. Poured his mug in silence. The window stayed open and he felt strangely about offering Sergei breakfast and not having what he wanted. 

Leaning with the small of his back pressed up against the counter’s edge, Steve held his too-hot mug in both hands. On the end of the counter, there were some oranges ready to be peeled and eaten at his leisure.

He set his mug down and walked over, set right to digging his thumbnails below the rinds of the fruit, peeling the pith away in a spiral and separating the segments out onto a little plate he grabbed out of the sink. He really tried to arrange it nicely.

Steve walked out the front door, down the wooden steps of his porch, and along the side path into the back yard. Sergei was up and about, inspecting the garden boxes for something, but looked up when he heard someone approaching. When he saw it was just Steve, he smiled, his whole head lifting up with the movement of it, black eyes turned up happily. 

“You’re back.” Sergei said. 

“Yep. You were complaining about not enough fruit, so, uh--” Steve didn’t know how to go on. He just held out the plate of orange slices. It wasn’t very special, but, “Breakfast.”

Sergei took the plate delicately and stared at the orange slices, serious for a moment, thinking about something. Steve almost regretted bringing it out. 

“What are you doing today?” Sergei finally asked. He popped one of the oranges in his mouth and chewed. Steve’s hands still felt sticky from peeling the fruit. “Busy with anything?” 

“I’m helping Shanny move some furniture,” Steve said, and then added on, “I promised I would.” 

Sergei slowly ate another slice of fruit and did not look pleased. “Okay.” 

“I’m probably late already but like, y’know--”

“Breakfast.” Sergei said.

“Breakfast.” Steve agreed sadly. He scratched at the side of his nose. “Um, d’you think you’ll stick around today? Like, in the afternoon?” 

Sergei grinned for real, finally, with the sharp points of his teeth showing. “I won’t wait up for you.” 

“Cool. Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“This afternoon, though?” He asked. Steve nodded and began heading back into the house, slow and backwards so he was still facing Sergei. They were smiling at each other. 

“This afternoon. Yes, for sure.” Steve agreed. “Plan on it.”

\---

Steve’s fingertips were aching and he was on the wrong end of Shanny’s bed frame, held up vertically. He was being pushed back down the hall. The house was getting rearranged to make room for a new desk.

“You’re still letting it _live_ in your _house_?” Brendan bitched. 

“Tilt it right more. Thanks, and yeah, whatever, he’s still in my fucking yard.” Steve said while he tried to watch over his shoulders. 

“Are you a fucking idiot?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said while they maneuvered the bed frame into its new room. “I shouldn’t have agreed to carry your fucking furniture. This sucks, man.”

They placed the bed frame flat on the floor, tucked up into the new corner Brendan wanted it in. The mattress and box springs were next, and then actually moving and building the new desk and chair. Darren and Nick were bringing over some old shelves so Brendan could have like, the world's shittiest home office, or something else with the illusion of productivity 

“No, seriously? Why haven’t you kicked it out yet?” Brendan asked. Steve shrugged, sweaty and a little annoyed.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong. Maybe I like having him around.”

“Stevie, dipshit, this is literally how fairies entrap human souls for all eternity and use them as weird slave meat-puppets who have to do errands in Hell. You’re going to get turned into a warning story for small children.”

“What the fuck?” Steve asked. “That’s not what fairies do.”

“How would you know! You’re being a stupid human about it!” Brendan’s voice was rapidly increasing in both volume and pitch. 

“Why are you yelling at me?” Steve raised his voice to match Brendan. They both breathed too hard for a second and then settled down. Brendan looked Steve in the eye, which was uncomfortable and seemed serious.

“Magic shit is like, barely safe at the best of times. I don’t need my best friend to get abducted by a weird Russian snake Succubus or whatever the fuck he is.” 

Steve thought he was being plenty careful. Sergei didn’t know his name, and the only offers of food between them were tea and sliced fruit going out, nothing cursed or enchanting coming in. 

“I’m not an idiot, Shanny, I know how to be cautious and shit. Like, I grew up in an integrated magic society too.” Steve said, “And I think you mean an Incubus.” 

“Whatever, man.”

Brendan sat on the floor, catching his breath, and frowned seriously. He looked actually worried and upset. Steve wasn’t even sure Sergei had the capacity to do anything truly evil. He even said so. 

“Just be careful and not stupid about him, please.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, and promised halfheartedly enough times until Brendan believed him.

\---

Steve got back home later than he thought and walked directly around the house into the backyard to check for Sergei before he went inside. He didn’t like being late and wasn’t happy about how dark it was now.

The yard was empty after a cursory glance around the place. The grass was soft beneath the rubber roles of his shoes and he couldn’t feel it. He turned around, a little confused, and headed back around the house to unlock the front door. 

A small amulet on a strip of leather had been wrapped and knotted around the doorknob, tied there purposefully. Seeing it made Steve pause. He hadn’t put it there, and didn’t recognize the rune engraved in the pendant when he lifted it up to inspect it. He couldn’t even figure out if it was made of metal or stone, so he let the pendant drop and clatter against the wood of the door and went inside to make dinner by himself. 

He left the front porch light on until it was late and dark outside, just in case, though.

\---

He didn’t see Sergei again for most of the week, or the days after, and Steve got on with his life. Darren took him out for burgers and beers. He skated with the boys on the weekends and even scored a few times. He went grocery shopping and worked in the garden boxes out back, keeping everything clean and tidy while he coaxed his sprouting plants into life.

He pretended like he wasn't staying up late every night wondering what happened to Sergei. If it was his fault, somehow.

\---

Sergei was eventually starting to become like a half-forgotten dream, a ghost in the back of Steve’s head that he barely remembered. Steve thought of him less and less, and figured that was probably a good thing. He didn’t want or need ancient fairy loitering around the peripherals of his life, waiting to screw everything over eventually.

But, still, Steve missed him. He didn’t take the amulet off his house’s doorknob, either.

\---

He hadn’t meant to be put off when Sergei finally decided to grace Steve’s shitty household with his presence again, but Steve was annoyed. Really fucking annoyed, actually. Maybe seeing Sergei, alive and well, should have been a pleasant surprise, but it just made something uncomfortable prickle below Steve’s skin. Made his stomach drop low. He walked up the yard while the plastic handles of grocery bags cut off circulation in his fingers. Sergei was sitting on the front stoop with his chin in his hands, like he was _bored_ waiting for Steve. He perked up once Steve made it to the porch though.

“Oh, you’re home!” Sergei said, black eyes glittering happily and he jumped up. Steve ignored him and struggled to get his keys out of his jeans while holding the bags. It wasn’t going well. 

“I was waiting for you,” Sergei continued on after leaving a nice pause in the air for Steve’s nonexistent reply. The keys slipped out of Steve’s fingertips and dropped on the porch. “Been missing each other, lately.” 

“Okay.” Steve said. Sergei had put a hand on Steve’s waist before he leaned down and plucked the keys off the ground for him. He wasn’t sure if that was an admission of emotions or a conflict of scheduling.

Steve remembered to exhale and not to be too mad, and stepped aside. Sergei unlocked the door carefully and Steve stepped inside. Sergei stayed just outside, not crossing over the threshold into the home. The amulet still bounced against the wood of the door. Sergei shifted from foot to foot, light and worried about something. Steve dropped his plastic grocery bags on the foyer’s floor and stood back up to frown up at Sergei.

“What exactly do you want?” he asked, sharper than he had meant it to sound. Sergei frowned a little. He appeared sleek and vaguely opalescent in the slowly setting sun’s light. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ve been gone for weeks. Why come back?” 

“I’m keeping this home safe?” Sergei replied back, equally confused. Steve didn’t even know where to start. 

“Safe from _ what_ exactly?” 

Sergei exhaled a strange laugh and shrugged. 

“There are mischievous things that’d like to hurt you, Stepka. I’m keeping them away for you. Magic isn’t a safe thing to live around,” 

Steve just stared up at him, uncertainly flattered but definitely annoyed. “I didn’t ask you to do that.” 

With the grocery bags gathered up once again, Steve stomped into the house. He fully expected Sergei to follow after him but after the bags were dropped unceremoniously on the counter, he realized he was in the house by himself. He walked, slowly, back towards the front door. 

Sergei was still standing there, leaning on his tiptoes to stare into the house, trying to watch where Steve went. He dropped back down to his heels when Steve came back into view. 

“You never told me to stop, either.” He said. 

“What?”

Sergei plucked the pendant up, pulling the leather rope taught around the doorway so Steve could see the pendant and its little carved rune clearly.

“You offered worship, so I left the pendant, and you choose to keep it. I’ll stay and keep the house safe because it’s here. You _chose_ to want me here.” 

“When did I do any of that?” Steve asked while he tried his best to not sound insane. Sergei’s shoulders slumped down, eyes rolled back in exasperated annoyance. 

“The clothes, the fruit, not making me leave, leaving things for me to return,” He listed off, tapping off fingertips as he went. 

Steve's ignorance and confusion must have shown on his face, because Sergei had gone steely and cold-blooded, thrown a hand dramatically through the air and turned to leave. 

“Hey-- wait a second, Sergei,” Steve tried to follow after him, down into the yard and sidewalk and road, but felt compelled to stay on the porch. In the house. He looked out into the dark street and wondered about creeping shadows around the edges of fences and whatever-- fucking, _evils_ Sergei was apparently busy keeping away. 

“If you don’t want me back take it down!” Sergei shouted, not bothering to turn towards the house when he walked.

\---

All morning Steve was antsy, anxiously waiting for Sergei to come home so Steve could apologize for… being human, he figured. Being stupid, in general.

But as the morning dragged on, it became clearer that Sergei wasn’t going to arrive with the cool morning dew on the grass. So Steve went to do some chores to pass the time. He weeded the vegetable garden. Plucked his tomatoes and washed them in the sink while he stared out the kitchen window. Watered his flower beds out front. Realized in the same moment that he was sweating beneath his shirt and that the grass was brushing above his ankles. He felt like he had mowed pretty recently, and it hadn’t rained too much, so the growth was a little inexplicable.

He dragged the push mower out of the garage and tugged his shirt off over his head to deal with the heat. He hadn’t heard Sergei arrive. Everything smelled like gas and the humid summer daylight, and then, suddenly, there he was, sprawled out over his patio furniture once again. 

“Oh,” Sergei said. He sounded disappointed. “Do not cut the grass. What did the grass ever do to you?” 

Steve dropped the mower’s pull handle and stood up straight. 

“You’re home,” Steve said. Sergei rolled his eyes but had smiled. 

“You left the pendant. Here I am.” He explained, like it was really so simple. Steve laughed, relieved and loud.

“Here you are,” Steve repeated. It was as if he could barely believe Sergei stayed even though Steve followed his rules. He rubbed his palms dry on the thighs of his jeans. “Look, Sergei, I’m sorry.” 

“You should be.” Sergei told him plainly. “You’re not very smart.” 

“Well, okay. I’m smart about some things, but-- obviously, not this.” 

The smell of gasoline was still heavy in the air. Sergei was brilliant as ever in the sunlight. He was smiling and shook his head. 

“I-- I want you to stay, I guess. I just like it when you’re here. I don’t, y’know, understand exactly what you do, to the house or to me, maybe-- but I want you to stay. I just don’t know what to do to make you stay.” Admitting felt like ripping off a bandaid and Steve spoke in speeds that reflected it. Awkward and nearly stuttering, at first, and then getting it all over with at once, too fast and barely coherent. 

“You do know how to keep me.” Sergei said while he shifted his weight foot to foot, pressure shifting lightly from right to left while he sat. His hands were forward, curled over the edge of the chair's seat. “You already do everything right without thinking about it.” 

Steve frowned, “Okay.” 

“It is a very instinctual thing, I promise.” Sergei leaned back in the furniture and got comfortable. 

Steve walked over and sat on the slim edge of the seat that was left besides Sergei's lap. He put a hand flat on the opposite side of Sergei's legs so he was leaning over him. He met Sergei halfway for a kiss that was half a smile and half persistent dedication, moreso than anything else. Sergei curled a hand over the curve of Steve’s neck and kept it there when they finally broke apart to breathe.

“Yes,” Sergei said, “Like that.”

\---

Supposedly, Steve knew better than this.

Sergei was supposed to know better too, but they were both hidden below the tree in Steve’s back yard while the moon hung in the sky above them like ripe yellow fruit. The smell of summer sweat and mulch from the garden were hanging heavy in the air.

At the start, they were sitting several feet apart on the worn old blanket that Steve found in the back of his linen closet and laid out across the grass. Now, Sergei was pressed up against his side, his head on Steve’s shoulder.

His breath, when it blew across Steve’s cheek, was sweet and inviting. He got his hands on a bottle of honey wine and brought it back home. Or, into the backyard; Steve still hadn’t invited Sergei inside, just out of some lingering sense of self preservation. Steve didn’t ask how he got the wine, but he brought Sergei a glass out earlier so he didn’t have to drink from the bottle. He was smart enough to not dare and try it for himself. Brendan’s voice echoed in the back of his head, _Don’t eat anything it gives you_.

Not that Brendan really approved of anything else he’d done with Sergei thus far. In the dark-blue light, Steve saw the short, pointed tips of his ears. Without thinking, he ran the pad of his thumb along the edge of it.

Sergei shivered, probably from the chill of night, and leaned in closer to Steve.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at one of those parties? The late summer ones?” Steve asked with his hand drifting from Sergei’s ear to the back of his neck.

“A revel,” Sergei corrected. He lifted one of his legs off the blanket, rolled his ankle, and crossed one leg over the other. Steve watched the motion, noticed the extra peek of skin where Sergei’s jeans were cuffed. He had a little birthmark there. Steve could probably find it in the dark.

“Yeah,” Steve said, massaging the nape of Sergei’s neck. “That. Getting drunk and seducing helpless humans.”

“Who says I’m not doing that now?” Sergei asked, his eyes locked on Steve’s. He lifted the glass of wine up to his lips again.

Steve stared up at the stars for a moment, glad to have something to look at other than the bob of Sergei’s throat when he drank.

Slithering his way into Steve’s yard again with wine and demanding Steve watch the moonrise with him was hardly a seduction technique. 

“You didn’t even bring wine for me,” Steve said, objecting. “I’m not feeling very-- seduced.”

He faltered. Sergei didn’t miss it, and he held the bottle out toward Steve with a smile.

“I wasn’t going to drink the whole thing.” He raised his eyebrows. There were shadows and mischief over Sergei’s face. It looked more familiar than Steve was happy to admit.

Fairies, generally, were equally dangerous friends as they were enemies. It didn’t help that Sergei wasn’t normal, but rather an ancient type that was specifically involved with wine and decadence, ripe fruits and decorated tribute, Steve had come to learn. He was more trouble than Steve had ever asked for, even without doing anything.

“Sergei,” he says, trying to scold him. It doesn’t work. The use of his name-- his real name-- only made Sergei grin. According to Sergei, Steve was the only human who knew it. Steve suspected he probably told that to all of his hosts, though.

“Try it,” Sergei said when he bumped his knee against Steve’s. “You’re too old to be scared by stories.”

“I’m not drinking your cursed wine.” Steve shook his head.

“It is not cursed.” Sergei set it down on his other side. “Is enchanted.”

“Well, I’m still not drinking it.”

“Fine,” Sergei said. He sat up suddenly, cold air rushing in where they were pressed together. He was kneeling in the center of the blanket, now, faced towards Steve. Steve’s hand hovered between them and Sergei took it, pulling them close together again.

He smiled, the front of him now covered in delicate moonlight. “I know another way you can try.”

He wasn’t expecting Sergei to kiss him. The first soft press of their lips almost made Steve pull away, precautionary. But Sergei sighed and without thinking too hard, Steve chased forward and kissed him again.

Sergei’s lips were sweet from the wine and once he started, Steve had a hard time finding reasons to stop. Sergei shuffled forward until he was kneeling over Steve’s lap, hands resting on either side of his neck.

Steve didn’t know what enchanted wine was supposed to make him feel like. He wanted to keep kissing Sergei until the moon fell and the sun came up again. He wanted to erase everything keeping him from Sergei’s bare skin. He wanted to know that Sergei wanted him back even half as badly.  
When they finally broke apart, Sergei was grinning at him.

“I told you,” he said, mouth on Steve’s jaw now. “You might like it.”

Truthfully, Steve felt no different than any other time Sergei has kissed him.

\---

Sometimes, in the half-light of sunset, when the moon began to take over its shift in the sky, Sergei’s eyes would glow. It really, genuinely reminded Steve of something serpentine, the way the house's porch lights would catch on his irises and make them seem luminescent and make his stomach would flip around strangely. They were glowing now, while Sergei was on the lazy side of half-drunk and sitting with Steve on the grassy edge of the yard.

He wasn’t sure what the others were doing. Something about a bonfire. Sergei had escaped to sit with Steve, in favor of watching the chaos from afar, rather than watching up close while Darren, Brendan, and Nick were comparing fire-starting skills.

“Shanny, please don’t wave lighter fluid around like that--” Nick shouted out.

“I wouldn’t have to if Mack would stop stacking twigs and start throwing logs and matches in the firepit!”

“God. Shanny, you dipshit, this is literally how fires are _ built_.”

Sergei had like, absolutely bonkers cheekbones. Like, ancient-carved marble statue cheekbones. His hair was long and smooth and looked soft to the touch. His skin shimmered gold around the back of his neck and under the collar of the shirt Steve had loaned him. It was fucking Steve up, that something that looked like this just got to exist in reality. Sergei wasn’t like any Fey he’d ever met before. He was different in an unnameable kind of way. Insane, seriously. 

“Wanna see a magic trick?” Steve asked suddenly. Sergei looked over to him, like he doubted Steve could even comprehend what real magic actually looked like, but nodded anyways.

“Alright.”

Steve plucked a fat blade of grass, pulled it taught between his two thumbs, the rest of his fingers laced together tightly. He brought his hands up to his mouth and blew between his thumbs. The blade of grass vibrated between his hands and made the perfect, sharp imitation of a duck’s quack. Sergei screamed-- laughed, whatever-- and lunged over to tackle Steve backwards into the grass. Brendan and Darren were still yelling at each other, and Steve didn’t hear them. 

“That wasn’t magic!” Sergei’s laugh was _so_ loud while he was leaning over Steve. Steve liked it so much. 

“But you laughed, so… yes, it was.” Steve told him with a goofy smile. Sergei leaned back, out of Steve’s face, and pulled him by the hands until they were standing up, nearly chest-to-chest. 

Brendan had gotten a fire going, at least ten feet tall and ghoulishly red-hot, before it immediately died down as the lighter fluid burnt off. Darren laughed sharply, just one loud bark, like he won something or had proved a point. Nick was still fluttering around the edges, fretting about fire-safety. Darren took over and fixed the bonfire, so it could last for more than a few seconds, and the logs he had tossed sent sparks into the sky. Steve had turned away from staring at Sergei to watch the embers fly up and disappear. Nick and Brendan disappeared into the kitchen.

Sergei still held onto Sergei’s hand and squeezed lightly, twice, before turning back to face him. Sergei turned, too, and smiled down at Steve, his grin wide and a little dangerous, like always.

“I forgive you,” Steve said. Sergei’s face lifted in surprise.

“I was in trouble?” Sergei asked. Nick and Brendan reappeared, arms full with a bag of Jet-puffed, graham crackers, chocolates, and a fresh six-pack of beer. 

“You sneak off all the time and never tell me where you go, or when you’ll be back.” _I get worried,_ Steve hoped Sergei could read between the lines of what he was saying, _I miss you when you’re gone._

Sergei just smiled. 

“It was you who did not want me to live in your yard, remember? So I go to other places, like you asked.” 

Steve was struggling. He didn’t want to admit he liked having Sergei around again, because that felt like he was losing a game, somehow. The only thing worse was admitting he missed Sergei and knowing that Sergei already knew. 

“Well,” Steve tried to sound like he wasn’t pouting. “I forgive you, anyways.”

Sergei squeezed Steve’s hand a few times and smiled, sharp and wide and bright. 

“Good. I knew already, but thank you.” 

Steve laughed a little, just once or twice, and then Nick waved them over for marshmallows. The flames were steady enough and the coals were hot, he said while Sergei dragged Steve in towards the bonfire. It was perfect if they wanted theirs to be golden and toasted.

\---

“What happens if you get my real name?” Steve asked and glanced over his shoulder. Sergei waved a hand through the air.

“You’ll be mine forever, Stepka.” He said nonchalantly. “Until one of us dies.” 

Sergei was laying flat and horizontal on the front porch’s swing again, but Steve was sitting on the steps with a can of Arizona tea sweating cold condensation rings into the wood floor of the porch. He fiddled with the metal tab on the can. Sergei had a glass of ice water on the ground that Steve brought out for him. It was simply too hot to do anything else, and Sergei apparently still had rules about actually entering the house to abide. So they were on the porch. 

“That does sound kinda treacherous, bud,” Steve said, “No wonder they warn us about it.”

Sergei huffed out an unimpressed noise, and then pushed against the railing with his palm so the swing would keep going back and forth.

“Well… is like-- I don’t get to protect any other homes, if you give me your name. And you don’t get to belong to any other fairy. There are rules about it,” Sergei explained lazily, “The give and take.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

They went back to being quiet, after that. Steve sipped his tea and felt the sickly sweetness stick behind his teeth. The actual flavor of the tea came after.

Then, he asked, “Can we go inside and sit in front of the fans if you have my name?” 

Sergei did a sit up, which rocked the swinging bench strangely. He was making an unimpressed face. 

“It is meant to be more dramatic than just an excuse to go sit by the fan.” Sergei said. Scolding, just a bit.

“But would it work?” Steve was just curious. Sergei shrugged. 

“Sure. Yes, I think.”

Steve stood up, being sure to take his tea with him, and crossed the few steps over to the swinging bench and stuck out a hand. 

“Hi, Sergei. I’m Steve-- Stephen Yzerman-- and I’m tired of sweating my ass off on the front porch, so can we go inside now, please?” 

Sergei laughed a few times, disbelieving. His black eyes crinkled up like they did when he smiled. It made Steve happy, and Sergei shook Steve’s hand back firmly. 

Steve pulled him up off the swing, kept his hold on Sergei’s hand with their fingers now laced together, and dragged Sergei by the arm into the cool shadows inside their home.

\---

Sergei hadn’t been in bed when Steve woke up. He also hadn’t been in the kitchen, or anywhere else in the house. But, the pendant was still nailed properly above the door, so Steve wasn’t worried. He pulled on his sandals and went to turn on the hose. He had been watering when he saw the quick glitter of black scales move beneath the green leaves of his geraniums in the window box. Sergei slithered around in a tighter circle above the dirt. The hose dripped a slow stream of water on Steve’s toes and he carefully pushed some of the flowers aside so there was more morning sunlight for Sergei to feel. Slowly, he made his way up Steve’s arm and shoulder until he was curled loosely over Steve’s neck and shoulders. The weight of the snake was kind of pleasant, in an odd way.

“Good morning,” Steve said, happy to have found him, finally. “Did you eat yet? I’ll make us something once the yard chores are done.” 

Sergei yawned, jaw stretched wide open and dangerous, teeth glittering thin and pointed. He looped around Steve’s shoulders once more before he inched his way down Steve’s back and coiled onto the ground, underfoot. 

Steve turned the hose back on, and hadn’t heard when Sergei shifted, but certainly saw his naked ass marching up the porch steps and into the house. His arms were angled strangely while he stretched out the muscles.

“Stevie, can we have toast and oranges again?” Sergei shouted from inside the house. Steve sprayed down the soil of the geraniums and nodded to no one specifically. Sergei left the front door wide open, but Steve wasn’t worried. 

“Sure thing, babe.”


End file.
